The Witching Hour
by TheMadKatter13
Summary: [Kinktober 2017 series 12: Tentacles] He wouldn't remember that it had visited him come morning, he never did, but when it woke him in the middle of the night, every memory of its visits came to him as easily as breathing, as if they were sitting behind a veil during the daylight hours, waiting only for the monster's command to reveal themselves to Peter once more. AU; T!M!W/B!H!P


**I was going to say something like "We all know which one of today's prompts I'm going to write. Obviously." But then I realized that I've only written tentacles once? And that y'all have no idea how much of a slut I am for tentacles? So here's some tentacles.**

 **T!M!W/B!H!P = Top Monster Wade / Bottom Human Peter**

 **Cross-posted from AO3 same day.**

* * *

Day 12: Master/Slave | **Tentacles** | Hand-jobs

The too-familiar sickly-sweet scent of rot and decay choked Peter awake, making him cough into his pillow. His body jack-knifed into the fetal position, ridged from the effort it took trying to expel that scent from his lungs, his knees pressing against his already-hard cock. Even after the coughing subsided, he stayed frozen in position, terrified to pull his face away from his pillows. He knew his gaze wasn't necessary, that the creature didn't much care if he was asleep or awake, only that it preferred that he was awake, but the sight of it always gave him nightmares for days after its visit. When minutes passed and he didn't feel the monster join him on his bed, he reluctantly rolled his head to face his closet, and slowly opened his eyes.

The door was already open, the frame filled with the creature's monstrous silhouette. Its red-cloaked form was backlit by a dim, unholy sort of light, one that Peter didn't really know where it came from and he wasn't sure he ever wanted to find out. Its eyes were two beams of white near the ceiling, bright like flashlights, and yet somehow failed to illuminate any other part of the monster's face besides the gleam of its fanged grin. The shadows where its legs should be coalesced into a swarming mass of deep red tentacles decorated with lumpy black rings that somehow glowed in the dark. The pattern reminded Peter of that of the blue-ringed octopus, and he hoped that the monster wasn't venomous too.

The tentacles made no sound when they began to move across the floor, carrying the terrifyingly-large form closer and closer, so smoothly that it looked like it was gliding, and they failed to disrupt the mess strewn across the hardwood. The creature's scent increased the closer it got and Peter's cock throbbed in response, his arousal tied unwillingly to that smell. The same smell that made him gag, made him finally move, if only to cover his nose, but as soon as his hand was in the air, the creature was suddenly on his bed, liked it had teleported across the room, just to wrap a tentacle firmly around Peter's wrist and pin it to the bed. Like it was forcing him to accept its scent. More and more tentacles moved over him, stripping him so quickly that it left him breathless.

Being bared to the bright-eyed gaze made Peter want to cover up, but the creature didn't like that, never liked that, and twined even more of its strange limbs around Peter's, its 'skin' too-smooth, too hot. He was pinned down and spread wide, his wrists kept up by his head, his legs bent at his knees and pushed up next to his ribs in a way that made him glad of his gymnast background. He opened his mouth, but even if he had known what to say (he never knew what to say), a tentacle slid in before he could make a sound, settling and stilling against his tongue. Strangely, despite the overpowering scent of rot thick in his nose, the limb tasted nothing like it. Rather, his tongue was met with a musky, earthy taste that was bizarrely pleasant, that made the scent of rot more bearable, almost abhorrently addicting, and it made his body buzz and his mind fuzz in a gentle high that leached the slight tension from his body.

Another tentacle pressed against his asshole, the tip wet and slick, and pushed gently at him. The pointed tip slid into him easily, not even enough to stretch him, and then pulled out before Peter could even get used to it. Then it pushed forward and pulled out again, sliding a little more into Peter each time and making Peter's cock throb in time. He was fairly certain this was a smaller tentacle, one of the ones the monster used to stretch him, and Peter couldn't help but try to rock into the rhythm. Because of the limbs pinning him in place, the most he could do was undulate against them, unsuccessful in taking in more than the creature wanted to give him.

He absently began to suck at the one in his mouth, and the tentacle responded by pulsing against his tongue, thickening and thinning to the rhythm of the limb fucking into him. Peter moaned softly and closed his eyes against the eerie gaze fixed on him. He could never forget what exactly was inside him, not with the way the limbs around him never quite ceased their shifting, their gentle clenching around his legs and arms and waist, but shutting out the sight sometimes helped reduced the nightmares that frequently followed the monster's visits. In the darkness behind his eyes, he could pretend that the monster didn't look so terrifying, that he wasn't a nightmare made flesh, made to fuck Peter within an inch of his life.

The tentacle in his ass abruptly pushed in and kept pushing, coiling inside of him, a coiled knot pushing against his prostate and forcing Peter's eyes wide as his body arched against his living bonds. Sparks flickered across his vision as his prostate was massaged and he bucked when another tentacle wrapped around his cock, encasing it in more of that too-hot heat. All the tentacles around and in him made him feel like he was burning up from the inside, and yet he wanted more, needed more. He knew he would get it, by the time the creature was done with him, would probably get more than he thought he could handle, but that didn't stop him from tightening his muscles around the limb in him, trying to pull more of it into his body.

The monster made a soft rumbling sound, the one that indicated it was pleased, and then pulled out as suddenly as it had pushed in, leaving Peter empty and cold. He whimpered and tried to reach out, tried to bring the tentacle back, but the ones pinning him just tightened, enforcing his stillness. He moaned pitifully against the one still throbbing against his tongue and stretched out his fingers, silently begging. That gleaming, wide, too-white grin widened further as the monster bent over him, bringing its face closer to Peter.

So close, the glow of the monsters eyes did shed enough light for Peter to be able to make out its facial features, although he wished he couldn't. Because for as terrifying as the creature was, shadowed like he normally saw it, distance and darkness made it it a lot easier to pretend that the thing that came to him at night was less a thing and more a human. But this close… this close Peter could see that its eyes were completely round, unnatural glowing discs without eyelids, like a cartoon. Its nose, or what Peter guessed was its nose, was a thin, horizontal black line with a faint arch up towards the eyes, halfway between its eyes and mouth. And its mouth… Its mouth may have been the most horrifying thing of all, not because it had no lips, no separation between flesh so red it blended in with its cloak and too-white fangs, but because those fangs were only the first layer. When the creature opened its mouth, Peter could see row after row of sharp teeth going back into the thing's mouth, and no tongue in sight, even though he knew it had one.

The monster was hideous, heart-stoppingly terrifying in appearance and strength, and its scent could make a mortician gag, but for some reason, it always took care of Peter. He didn't know why it came to him, or what it got out of him, because to his knowledge, the monster never orgasmed, but every Wednesday night, without fail, it appeared and fucked him until he was wrung out and falling unconscious before it had even left its bed. He wouldn't remember that it had visited him come morning, he never did, but when it woke him in the middle of the night, every memory of its visits came to him as easily as breathing, as if they were sitting behind a veil during the daylight hours, waiting only for the monster's command to reveal themselves to Peter once more.

For some reason, Peter was still empty, the creature still just leaning over him, staring at him with those unblinking eyes and that Cheshire cat grin. He whimpered and sucked on the tentacle in his mouth and tried to plead with his eyes, his wrists twisting in their holds so he could try to get his fingers around one of the things' limbs. The monster laughed. Or at least, Peter thought it was a laugh. It was a strange, chittering, clicking sound that made him imagine those teeth biting rapidly into his bones. He shuddered and the monster grinned wider, splitting its face eerily wide as it revealed more teeth. Peter couldn't help but close his eyes against the sight of it, his heart stuttering in his chest as his ass clenched down on nothing. As good as the monster made him feel, as much as he enjoyed what it did to him, it didn't make its visage any less horrifying.

The tentacle in his mouth suddenly pushed forward, nudging at the back of his throat, and his eyes opened wide, unable to stop the sudden flood of anxiety that made his stomach flip. The monster was still grinning as a thicker tentacle than the first one pushed against his hole, pausing as soon as it breached him. It was wider than he'd expected and even though it had stopped moving with just the tip inside him, the stretch made him gasp, his head tossing back on the pillow, exposing the tender, vulnerable flesh of his throat. It was an accidental, dual offer, as the muscles of his throat opened and the tentacle in his mouth pushed deeper, choking him and forcing him to breathe steadily through his nose, fighting the urge to gag around it. Simultaneously, the monster bent over him, its massive size dwarfing Peter and blocking out the faint glow from both his alarm clock and the moon, and it set teeth to Peter's skin, making him jerk, even though he had nowhere to go.

Its mouth was so large that Peter could feel its bite from the side of his neck to around his shoulder, a large arch like a shark bite, something that could rip him to shreds in seconds, and he could do nothing to stop it. Not that it would need its mouth to tear him apart - the monster's tentacles were strong and hearty and could probably quarter him in the time it took to draw a breath. But instead of maiming him, those teeth simply held him in place as his throat started going numb, a chemical reaction from something on the monster's tentacle that eased its path down Peter's esophagus until it was deeper inside him than it could have ever gone without that chemical. Something wet prodded at the front of his throat, what he was fairly certain was the monster's tongue, and he could feel the tentacle in his throat pulsing in him, throbbing as it fucked his mouth, moving against the tongue pressed to the base of his throat.

The tentacle in his ass slowly started pushing in deeper, getting wider further up and forcing him open, open, open. PInned as he was, all he could do was lay there under the monster and take it, though that wasn't exactly difficult to do. He wondered if the creature could dispense different chemicals from different tentacles at will, because he wasn't getting numbness from the one in his ass, but rather a strange elation. Just sheer pleasure. Like it just being in him lit up every single one of his nerve endings, even before it made contact with it prostate. When it did that, his entire body positively lit up like a Christmas tree, all bright lights and ambient cheer.

He writhed on the tentacles penetrating him as more of the monsters limbs stroked over every inch of his body, trailing fire and lightning across his skin. The tentacle around his cock, still until now, began to move, a tight coil up and around to brush against the head before loosening as it slid down. Everything began to move in a throbbing pulse, like the beat of a heart. His was pounding in his chest, a frantic rhythm in his arousal, and he could only wonder if it was the creature's. He didn't know why it came to him, why it kept doing this for him, to him, and he suspected he never would.

Peter never felt more alive than he did in this moment, when he was so full and so surrounded by his monster, every inch of his body on fire and so so aroused that he could barely stand it. The teeth in his skin tightened, not enough to break the skin, but enough to light up the danger center of his brain, which only got tied further into his arousal. He really hoped that one day, he wasn't going to get mugged and get an erection because he'd gotten all turned around on what was right and wrong. Especially when, the closer he got to orgasm and the more he whimpered, the firmer the monster held onto him, with teeth and with tentacles, until Peter forgot which way was up and was floating on pleasure in the creature's many-limbed embrace.

As his orgasm coiled tighter and tighter at the base of his spine, he couldn't help but cry at the slow build, at the way the monster never sped up, never hurried him to his release. He could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks, the way his throat convulsed with his sobs as he writhed in place, futilely trying to get more more _more_.

His orgasm came over him slowly, the fire building and building until all he saw and felt was a dull red glow across his wide-eyed vision. His moan vibrated the tentacle deep inside his throat, and the one in his ass and around his cock began to vibrate back, pushing his orgasm on and on and on until the red faded to black as he lost consciousness.

* * *

"I've been meaning to ask," Johnny said, yawning as he rounded the kitchen and made a beeline straight for the coffeepot, "do you get nightmares?"

Peter frowned at his roommate, spoonful of cereal paused halfway to his mouth. "Not that I know of?" he said slowly, his statement coming out as more of a question. "...why?" he asked after a minute.

"Idunno, dude," Johnny shrugged and then took a long drink from his coffee cup, eyes closing in the bliss of caffeine. "Sometimes I hear you groaning in the middle of the night. I know you're not bringing anyone home because always on point about telling me first, and as skeeved as I am saying this, I'm pretty sure it's not self-love because I'm also fairly certain you're like… a nun about that or something."

Peter blushed even as he lobbed his still-full spoon at his friend. "Just because we don't all rub one out thirty times a day like _some_ people doesn't mean I don't like some alone time now and then."

Johnny shrugged and brushed a Lucky Charm off his bare chest. He shuffled around, getting his own food as Peter frowned down at his spoonless bowl, trying to think.

"I mean, I know I used to get them as a kid 'cuz Aunt May or Uncle Ben would always come to talk to me about them," he said slowly, trying to remember what it had been like, what he'd had nightmares about. "If I remember right, I had this recurring nightmare about this red tentacle monster that lived in my closet. My aunt and uncle made me draw it and they had it up on the fridge for months. Years? Anyway, they kept it there to face my fears, to show me it was just my imagination and that there were no such things as monsters. Eventually I stopped having the nightmares, but Aunt May probably still has that drawing somewhere. But ever since then, not really."

"Huh." Johnny stared blankly into space as he dipped Peter's spoon into his own bowl of cereal. Peter glared at him and went to go get another one.

He kept thinking about it as he finished breakfast and called first dibs on the faster, but he really almost never remembered his dreams anymore. He was pretty sure he'd remember a nightmare if he had it though. As he stripped down in the bathroom, he realized he was spending too much time thinking about something that didn't impact him and decided to put it out of mind.

In the mirror, Peter's reflection glared grumpily back at him and he frowned at the ring of pointed indents from his neck to shoulder. His skin really injured too easily. He could never figure out where half of his injuries came from. He turned away from his reflection grumbling and stepped into the shower. If weird injuries were the weirdest thing that happened to him, he could live with that. College was more than confusing enough for him.

FIN

* * *

 **I need to work on my tentacle repertoire. Also on my tentacle capabilities. Not pleased enough with them…**

 **Reblog the thing (themadkatter13fanfiction tumblr, tagged/The-Witching-Hour).**


End file.
